Holding On (Why is everything so heavy?)
by ScarredNotBroken
Summary: The world keeps turning after Tony Stark's untimely death. Peter is stuck in place. / Post-Endgame, Pre-FFH / Content warnings: Grief and unhealthy coping in the way of non-graphic self-harm and one (brief) instance of suicidal ideation (blink and you'll miss it)


**A/N: **I...saw _Far From Home _tonight and all I can say is that there's gonna be another trope starting up in this fandom. Wow. Anyway... If there's anything weird in here, it's because I don't normally write in present tense and also this is has only been very lightly edited because I started it in the aftermath of _Endgame _and finished it on a whim the other day, soooo...

Cross-posted from my tumblr.

_**Content warnings: Grief and unhealthy coping in the way of non-graphic self-harm and one (brief) instance of suicidal ideation (if you blink you might miss it).**_

* * *

The first time he sees it not even a month has passed, and it catches him completely off-guard, knocking the breath from his lungs.

He's walking casually down the street with Ned, desperately searching for some sense of _normal,_ and it catches in the corner of his vision, stopping him dead in his path.

"Oh," Ned breathes when he picks up what Peter is staring at. "You didn't know."

Across the street, at the corner of the park, is a memorial. Candles half burned, art work, photos, newspaper clippings. All of it of Iron Man.

Peter feels as though the rug has been pulled from under his feet yet again. He thought he was past this, but his eyes are burning, and he can't stop staring, and the hurt surfaces anew. He only manages one word. "Why?"

Ned swallows, takes a deep breath, speaks the hard truth: "You're not the only one hurting. He was their hero, too. This is how they cope."

He wishes it wasn't.

* * *

The second time he spots one, he's out on patrol for the first time since _then._

The memorial is a spray painted mural taking up a good chunk of the side of a brick building, and he wonders who in the world managed to make it. He sits and stares - for a few minutes, a few hours, who knows - before shooting a web towards a building in the opposite direction. Queens is quiet tonight; he heads home early.

He slips in through his bedroom window even though he doesn't need to anymore, and it's only when the mask comes off that the grief hits him full-force once again. Two months have passed already, and despite that he knows grief has no timeline, he thinks he should definitely be passed the tears he can feel pressing and the tightness caving his chest in.

He doesn't realize he's not breathing until suddenly he's sitting on the floor (how did he get there?) and May is crouched in front of him (when did she come in?), telling him to "breathe, baby; breathe. Everything's okay. Just breathe."

He does eventually, but he wonders if he really wants to.

* * *

The third time one shows up, he's getting dinner with May at their favorite Thai place.

It's the smallest one he's seen, sitting innocently in one corner towards the back. More candles, more photos, placed under a sign, the text in Thai. (He doesn't know what it says, but he can guess.)

He says he's not hungry anymore, and when May sees it too, she lets out a long-suffering sigh.

"You can't keep doing this to yourself, Peter."

"I can't help it. It's not like I _chose _to lose my appetite just now."

She doesn't understand, he knows. He was there, and she wasn't, and he can't just move on like the rest of the world has.

Or, rather, maybe he could if he tried, but he's tired. He can't find it in himself to want to.

He knows she wouldn't understand that either, so he forces down the grief and the guilt, and when their food arrives, he eats. When they finish, May pays the bill, and they leave, and still he shoves it all down. Maybe if he stuffs it far enough back - sticks it in all in a box and buries it, he can at least _pretend _to be normal for awhile.

He decides that night that maybe numb isn't such a bad thing to feel.

* * *

The fourth one is, even after four months, new. It would seem that the people of Queens haven't given themselves enough even yet.

This time, he feels nothing.

It's just another mural on just another brick building.

The night is quiet again, and he swings home from patrol early. May is out, and he thinks it'll be nice to have the place to himself for a little while.

He slips in through his window, leaves his suit in a heap on the floor, and goes to hunt down something to eat in the kitchen as he pulls a t-shirt over his head. He can hear the distant whisper shoved in one corner of his mind escaping its box: _"Kid, I know I'm practically made of money, but put that away properly, please. Take care of your stuff so it lasts, ya know?" _He promptly ignores it, and puts on water for mac 'n cheese. It's way past dinnertime, but he doesn't care.

Distantly, as he watches the pot, he wonders when he stopped caring about anything at all. The cork on his bottled-up emotions threatens to pop out, but he tamps down on it quickly. If he cares, that means he has to _feel, _and he doesn't want to feel. If he doesn't feel anything at all, then he doesn't have to deal with the _bad feelings _either. It's all or nothing, and nothing is decidedly better.

Some part of him knows that being numb isn't really a good thing, but it _is_ better than too much all at once. ...right? If only there was a way to feel the bad things in moderation, on _his _time, only when it was convenient.

But there isn't.

He turns away from the stove and leans back against the counter. That's when he sees it, and a whisper of a thought folds itself into his mind. He takes this idea, grabs it, holds onto it, mulls it over. There's more than one way to feel pain, after all, and maybe if he can let himself a little of that, then he can feel a little of other things - _good things_ \- again, too.

No one would ever even know.

He takes two steps across the kitchen and opens the drawer where his aunt keeps the knives. He can't control grief - can only keep it safely bottled up - but he can certainly control pain and when he feels it.

Numb isn't so bad, but he decides measured pain is better.

* * *

The fifth one he finds while avoiding Pepper.

He takes the long way home from school that day, knowing that she's waiting at the apartment for him. Despite all other previous attempts on her part, he hasn't seen her since the funeral. Seeing her and Morgan is just too much. But, apparently, his excuses to avoid her for months have finally run out, and he can't avoid it any longer.

He can't avoid it, but he _can _put it off as long as possible.

So he purposely stays on a stop past his, and plans to walk his way back as slowly as he feels he can get away with.

He turns the corner out of the station, and it's right there in front of him. It's not the largest he's seen, or the most detailed, but it hits hard regardless. Painted on the side of the building is the Iron Man helmet and around it are painted the names of people he's saved over the years. There's a wooden sign standing next to it inviting people to add their name, to ask the shopkeeper for paint to do so, and he can't help but wander over to read the names sprawled over the wall.

There are a lot, but he's not surprised.

He wanders into the shop, and before he can think about it too much, he asks for paint. The man behind the counter smiles fondly if not a little sadly and hands him a can and a brush.

Finding a space as close to the helmet as possible, he squeezes in his name in careful white letters. The man had saved him in more ways than one, and he knows he'll have to bleed out the grief later, but he doesn't regret doing this. It's the only thing he _can _do.

He returns the paint and brush with a quiet 'thank you' and continues on his way home. He'll be even later than he'd intended, and he knows May is getting worried when she calls.

"I'm two blocks away," he replies, heart dropping into his stomach at the thought of facing Pepper. "I missed my stop." And he knows she'll worry more at that because he has _unintentionally _missed his stop before, stuck in his own head, but he'll deal with that later.

Pepper is sitting on the couch when he enters, and it's only after he greets her that he realizes she didn't bring Morgan. He's grateful, though. Seeing her five months ago had been difficult enough, and he isn't sure he would have been able to hold himself together right now if she was here.

He goes to drop his bag in his room, and he considers just not going back out. He does anyway.

May is nowhere in sight now, and he wonders why but sits across from Pepper without asking.

She doesn't beat around the bush. "Tony had hoped that everything would work out, but he was also prepared for it not to." She picks up a package wrapped in brown paper from beside her that he hadn't noticed before. "I'm not sure what's in here, but it's got your name on it. I would have given it to you at the funeral, but… I didn't find it until about a week after." She stands and sets it on the table in front of him. "I know this has been hard on you. You can open it when you're ready."

He picks it up, thanks her, and after she leaves, buries it in the bottom drawer of his desk.

That is one thing he knows for certain: he'll never be ready to open it.

* * *

The sixth he sees on purpose but not by choice.

It's a Saturday, barely passed noon, when Happy shows up at the door. 'Surprised' didn't even begin to cover it. At least Pepper has been texting him these last six months, but he had shared a pained look with Happy at the funeral and that had been it.

"Let's go, kid. Put your shoes on. We're taking a little trip."

He's too stunned to protest, and Happy doesn't offer any more information during the silent car ride. He's only more confused when they pull into a cemetery.

And then he sees it.

Tony may have been cremated, but that hadn't stopped someone from erecting a monument here anyway.

Happy gets out of the car before he can protest, so he gets out, too. "Happy, why did you bring me here?"

Happy stops but doesn't turn around to face him. "Because I've talked to Pepper, kid. And I've talked to your aunt, too. You're avoiding this, and that's not healthy. You've got to face this eventually."

"I'm not avoiding anything."

Happy spins around. _"Yes, _you _are. _You're more or less ghosting Pepper and Morgan, and according to May, you won't talk about Tony at all or go anywhere you know there's a memorial erected. That's not coping, Peter."

Something inside him snaps. "So, what? I'm just supposed to pretend like everything's okay? LIke I wasn't there to hear his heart stop? Like it doesn't kill me to talk about him? Because I can't do that. I can't!"

"No one is asking you to fake it," Happy replies quietly. "But it's okay to _feel. _It's okay to be angry."

He shakes his head. "I don't have the right to be."

"But you still are."

"Why did it have to be him, Happy? Why did this happen at all? He should have just...left it alone! I don't know! But it shouldn't have been him!"

"I know, kid; I know." Happy sighs. "I keep asking myself that, too. But that was just Tony. Couldn't leave anything alone."

He's crying now, but he doesn't care. He's angry and he can't stuff if down any longer.

He's so, so angry, and he doesn't know what to do about it anymore.

* * *

The seventh time, he's desperate.

A week has passed since Happy showed up at his door, and he decides that maybe the man is right, and he remembers the package Pepper gave him.

He's still not ready - not really, because he never will be - but he opens it anyway.

It's a leather-bound book, and when he opens it, he finds his mentor's handwriting scrawled across the unlined pages. The only thing on the first page is _"This probably isn't healthy, but I don't care. Because maybe someday it'll all be okay again."_

He turns the page and his eyes grow wide because he doesn't believe it. He turns another and another and another, and he finds the same on every page. It's a book of letters, photos tucked between the pages. To him. From Tony.

He wants to look away.

But he can't.

So he keeps reading.

He reads about their small wedding ceremony and finding out about Morgan, and Tony even tells him about all the projects he was working on. But they all end the same way: _"Wish you were here, buddy. I miss you. - Tony."_

He's about halfway through - Morgan is two now - when he breaks.

The letter starts out normal enough, but when he gets near the end, it shifts. The ink is smeared and the writing is even shakier than usual, but he still manages to make it out.

"_Having Morgan has changed me a lot. Losing you did, too. There are a lot of things I regret in my life, and losing you? Yeah, that trumps them all, kid. I never said it before, so I'm saying it now. You mean a lot to me, and I love you, Pete. Happy birthday."_

He curls up in his place on the floor, and he sobs because it _hurts, _and he just wants it to _stop, _but he's not sure it ever really will.

He cries until there's nothing left, until his eyes are dry and burning and his chest aches, but it's not enough. It'll never be enough.

When he can finally catch his breath, he sits up from where he had tipped over to lying down and picks up the book again and turns the page because it hurts but he still has to know what else Tony wrote in those five years.

And he reads more about Morgan and Pepper and the lake house and Tony's projects. And they all end the same way: _"Love you, kid. Wish you were here. - Tony."_

He reaches the last letter, and he's terrified to read it.

He thought he didn't have any tears left, but by the end, he is definitely crying again.

"_You're better than I could ever hope to be. You had a future, and it was stolen from you so easily. But now… If this works? You're gonna go places, kid. I just know it._

"_We have a chance to get everyone back again. I have a chance to get __you __back again. I don't want to lose everything I have now, but Peter…_

"_I would give ANYTHING to get you back."_

He reads the last line over and over and over again. Tucked between the pages is the photo of them with his SI certificate, and he cries harder because there's nothing else he _can _do.

And then he's running.

Out the door, through the apartment with May's worried voice echoing behind him, down the stairs, out of the building.

He doesn't know where he's going, but somehow he ends up at the cemetary Happy brought him to last week, and his feet carry him all the way to the memorial.

He screams at the sky - no actual words, just pure anguish, because he doesn't have any words left to say.

He falls to his knees, he sobs until he feels like he might throw up, and he finds one word tearing through his lips over and over again.

"Why?"

"_Why?"_

"_**Why?"**_

But there is no one to answer, and he doesn't expect anyone to anyway. After all, the only person who can is gone forever.

He doesn't know how long he sits there, but here's movement behind him, and after a moment Rhodey sits down next to him.

"Happy thought this is where you might go. May is pretty worried, you know."

He doesn't reply. He has nothing to say.

He thinks Rhodey will make him leave, but he doesn't. Rhodey just sits with him in silence.

"Did you know?" he finally croaks. "Did you know why he did it?"

Rhodey sighs softly. "He'd been adamant at first to not even try, so, yeah, I did ask why he changed his mind. And, ya know, he looked me dead in the eye when he said, 'I'd do anything to get my kid back. I know everyone who lost someone feels the same. We have a chance, and I can't rest until I know.'" He pauses then adds, "I've never seen such conviction from him. He was a father who had lost his child. Nothing can stand in the way of that."

He feels another tear break free and he whispers, "Then why don't you hate me? You and Pepper and Morgan and Happy? He did it because of me. It's my fault."

"No. The only person to blame is Thanos, and he already paid for what he did. It doesn't feel like enough, and it probably never will, but putting the blame on _you_ for _his_ choices?" Rhodey sighs again. "Tony knew what he was doing. Can't blame anyone for that - not even Thanos."

"If you're trying to make me feel better, it's not working."

"Good thing that's not what I was going for then. Sometimes the facts don't make us feel better, but that doesn't change them. We have to take what we know and somehow learn to feel better in spite of that."

"What if I can't?" He finally looks over at Rhodey.

Rhodey meets his gaze. "You will. It's not easy, but you will."

"How did you do it?"

"Who says that I have?"

He's not okay, but, then again, maybe no one else is either.

* * *

The eighth time, he's there because he wants to be.

He has a framed photo clutched in his hands, and he's a bit nervous, but he's not alone. May and Pepper and Morgan. Rhodey and Happy and Ned. They are all there with him, and they give him strength.

He steps away from them and finds a space to add his photograph among all the other mementos people have left. It's one of his favorites - one Pepper took of them in the lab when they weren't looking.

He takes a moment to take in the memorial itself, the words _'Whatever It Takes'_ etched into the stone over reliefs of both Tony and Natasha. His lips quirk up in something reminiscent of a grin as he thinks about what they would say if they saw all of this.

Despite his resolve, tears find their way down his cheeks. He's not okay, but he's not pretending anymore.

"Thank you for everything. You gave me a second chance, and I won't waste it. I won't."

He won't waste it. That's all he _can_ do, but maybe it's enough.


End file.
